One of my colleagues laughs about my “secret identity” as a punk-rock fan. On campus I do my best to be very professional, dressed in business casual, holding office hours and serving on committees. When I leave the parking lot, though, I have the music turned up so loud in my car it could make your ears ring. How much to keep your personal life and personal beliefs separate from your job is something most of us have pondered, but I have come to realize that these identities should not be as secret or separate as I once thought.
For me, punk rock means standing up for what you believe in, politically and personally. On May 15, I had a moment of clarity with respect to how that philosophy impacts my teaching. That evening I was there when the transgender punk rocker Laura Jane Grace burned her birth certificate onstage in protest of North Carolina’s House Bill 2, legislation that strips many rights away from North Carolina citizens, especially members of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, and intersex communities. It felt like I was witnessing something important when she took out her lighter, so I recorded a video and posted it to Twitter.
That video was eventually viewed worldwide, with links to my tweet appearing in news posts from Rolling Stone, USA Today, Vogue, the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, The Guardian, and many others. I’m not a particularly adept videographer, nor by any means am I an influential Twitter user. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time.
When news outlets started asking for permission to use the video, and when some reporters asked me for a statement, I first let them know that I was a faculty member at North Carolina Central University. None of them found that relevant. I was just quoted as “a fan.” The connections between what I do at my university and what I do outside the classroom are relevant to me, though. Being there that night for that protest and supporting Laura Jane Grace and all those who attended the concert encapsulate my feelings about the best way to approach being an LGBTQI ally in the classroom.
Though I do not identify as LGBTQI, I have always considered myself an ally in the classroom inasmuch as I would never intentionally discriminate against any student on the basis of sexual orientation or gender identity. Over the past year, however, I have realized that simply not discriminating does not constitute enough effort on my part. As a faculty member, I need to actively and visibly support my students in a variety of ways.
After the North Carolina legislature passed House Bill 2, several of my colleagues had hallway conversations about how we might best support our LGBTQI colleagues and students, who were scared and confused by the law. It was a shock to my system when one of my colleagues told me that since I care about this issue, I need to provide some leadership. He was right. I have tenure. As an ally, I also am in a less vulnerable position than my LGBTQI-identifying colleagues.
Many faculty members assume that our colleagues who identify as LGBTQI are the ones best qualified to fight this battle, but they need our help. Discrimination is real. Homophobia is real. Transphobia is real. Fighting discrimination is too important a task for us not to work together.
As Martin Luther King Jr. said in his “Letter from Birmingham Jail,” “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny.” This is the time for all of us to be there for our students, our colleagues, and our communities in meaningful ways. If we care about our fellow human beings, we need to show that support in every aspect of our lives.
Many of my colleagues personally believe in supporting LGBTQI individuals, but they don’t bring that support actively into the classroom because they think that it isn’t relevant to their teaching. That silence may not directly hurt students, but it doesn’t help, either.
I’m still on the journey to being a better ally in the classroom. Looking back, I remember that I had very few ideas of where to start. A few years ago, I posted a welcoming sign on my office door and took Safe Zone training. Then I began devoting a class session or two per semester to discussing LGBTQI contributions to literature in one upper-level course I teach. Those actions seem so small to me now, but it amazes me how few faculty members engage in even that level of support.
Loretta Lynch, U.S. attorney general, has provided a strong role model for faculty allies. In the news conference she delivered announcing the Department of Justice’s response to North Carolina, she spoke directly to the transgender community, saying, “Today, the Department of Justice and the entire Obama administration wants you to know that we see you; we stand with you; and we will do everything we can to protect you going forward.” Just as she spoke to the nation, we need to speak to our students. We need to be there for them, not by passively avoiding discriminating against them but by actively stepping up to the plate to protect them from the discrimination of others.
One day near the end of the semester, I wore to class a bracelet with rainbow colors and an equality symbol and a shirt that said “gay? Fine by me.” I also prepped a very brief statement of one or two sentences voicing my support of people who identify as LGBTQI in the wake of House Bill 2. It felt like a bold move for me; I am, despite my taste for loud music, usually an introvert. That day, though, the first thing a student said to me as I walked into class was “I like your shirt.” She appreciated my support on a personal level, and that day resulted in several other students opening up to me about their own investment in fighting discrimination.
I’m not a rock star or a politician. No video of me devoting a moment of class time to voice my support for LGBTQI students would gain international news coverage; my individual actions are admittedly very small. Our LGBTQI colleagues and students are the ones on the front lines fighting discrimination, but we let them know that they’re not alone in the fight when we visibly show our support.
When we amplify their voices, helping them be heard by speaking up for them in class, in faculty meetings, and even perhaps online or in the media, it helps further the goals of inclusivity and acceptance. I think the work of allies can be more important than many people realize, and I hope other faculty members will take up the call to show their support in big ways and small, to the best of their ability. Together it does add up.